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Build Up Your Gang
0

Build Up Your Gang 0

Interesting story with some great description and a strong narrative. You switch tenses often though, which can really make or break a story. I also noticed you used quite a few ellipsis in the wrong places.

$145 + $38 = $183

Shootin_spree

North Holland Hustlers

Added to

Playboy X's Loft

rated and updated by Jacky Fiend

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Omnia sunt Communia
123

Omnia sunt Communia 123

Tipping the bottle on it's side, the bartender poured another glass of vodka for his eager customer. The clear, pristine liquid swirled around the base of the cup before finally settling near the rim of the goblet, glistening in the faded light of the club floor. Swinging the flask back to it's upright position he slammed it down beside the beverage.

He pushed the glass forward with his spare hand towards the customer. "There you are Boris," the bartender grinned cheerfully. His rotting yellow teeth a constant reminder of the affects of heavy drinking, something most people in this place seemed to ignore.

"Thank you comrade," Boris wrapped his fingers around the glass and pulled it to his lips. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, absorbing the scent of yet another vodka; his fourth tonight. Pulling his head back he tipped the contents into his mouth. He bared his teeth violently as the harsh liquid tore down his throat and entered his blood system. Slamming the beaker back down on the bar loudly, he stood up and made his way from the place.

"Put it on my tab," he said throwing his hand up in the air in a friendly gesture of trust.

Ignoring whatever act tried to dazzle and amaze the audience this time, Boris made his way out of the club and out onto the streets of Liberty City. A cold wind whisked through the street catching him off guard and ruffling his clothes in a single direction. Boris grabbed a hold of himself and briskly walked along the pavement, paying no attention to the people around him.

Boris felt at home here, in Hove Beach, more so than anywhere else in this city. At least here the people all spoke Russian, there were Russian run shops and Russian people. That was as close as he was going to get to being Russian in an American metropolis like Liberty.

He stumbled out of control as a careless pedestrian knocked him out of his path. Boris glared at him before regaining his footing and confronting the assailant. "Watch where you're going!" he barked in a strong accent.

"Who do you think you're messing with, buddy?" the pedestrian replied, in a similarly thick tongue. He threw a punch at Boris which he narrowly avoided. Dodging it quickly Boris responded with a hail of blows to the attacker's face, sending him flying to the floor in a pool of blood.

"Idiot," he muttered. Turning his back on the unconsious man, he slowly made his way along the pavement once again. After a few steps he felt a firm, cold hand plant itself on his shoulder. He scowled in anger and pivoted on the spot to deal with the new threat.

He was stopped in his tracks by the barrel of a gun, pointed directly at his face. "You don't know who you're messing with," the gunman growled. His friend attacked Boris, striking him in the stomach and winding him in the process. Grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, they dragged him across the floor back towards the club.

"Let's let the boss deal with this one."

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SentinelXS
2

SentinelXS 2

As the car makes it way down the narrow road to the docks I am handed a SMG and an anxious nervousness builds in my mind and body. I have always hated situations like this and wish there could be a better way of finding the American Dream, but what other type of work can you perform and make a thousand dollars in one night, tax free? None. That’s why I’m here.

The car slows to a stop and I notice it is loaded with four men, all Korean, holding weapons in their hands as they exit the vehicle. I am aware that the moment of truth is upon us and there exists a fine balance between success and failure, life and death.

“You bring da money?” one of the Korean men asks in very broken Korean-English. “Yeah, we have the money. You guys bring the stuff?” one of the Irish men asks. “We wanna see it before we show you da drugs,” says the other Korean man. “Alright, Alright, be patient. We all have a lot on the line here, no need to be pushy or stupid,” says Pete.

As one of the Irish men goes back to the truck to get the money the Korean men also visit their vehicle to get the drugs. “I’m sorry for this fellas," exclaims Pete as he raises his SMG and shoots both of the Irish men we were sent to guard. They fall to the ground spilling their blood on the rain-soaked ground, which grabs the full attention of everyone left alive. “What the f*ck are you doing Peter?” screams Patrick as he runs for cover. “Nothing personal Patrick, just have a better plan and it didn’t involve them or these f*ckin Asians” yells Pete as he begins to empty another clip of ammunition into the human bodies standing before him.

I get behind the Irish men's Contender, hoping it will absorb some of the incoming projectiles as Pete sends a spray of bullets in the direction of Michael and myself. Between the bursts of gunfire we try and make our stand against the remaining Koreans and Pete, both of which are firing indiscriminately at anything that is alive and moving. “We’ve gotta stop this sh*t man,” screams Michael. Just then a bullet tears through his shoulder and he whirls around screaming with agony and falls to the ground, clutching his fresh wound. At this point I’m not sure who is alive or dead and I honestly don’t know if I will even make it out alive. My choice is a hard one, but it is clear I have to stop this if I can.

I stand up when the firing stops and take aim in the dimly light night. Ratta-tat-tat-tat-tat. My bullets are true to their mark and a Korean man falls to the earth, silent in the moonlight night. I shift my focus to another, the one that seems to be aiming at me now. I see Patrick take aim too and he eliminates the remaining Korean target. All that is left is Pete. I look to Patrick and he is looking right back at me. The only thing left to do is aim and fire, and just like that, almost in unison we dispatch a spray of bullets that strike their latest victim with an unrelenting assault that leaves Pete bloody and breathless on the concrete. Silence fills the night and the only thing that is certain is that I am alive and so is Patrick.

I drop the clip from my SMG and slam in a fresh one, just in case. Patrick motions for me to join him and check the bodies. We ease out of our temporary fortresses and cautiously approach the dark, lifeless figures scattered around the dock like a miniature battlefield. “This one’s dead…so is this one,” says Patrick as he kicks the bodies of two Korean men onto their backs and checks for signs of life. “What about Pete?” he asks. “I found him Patrick…he’s dead,” I explain while looking at our once alive accomplice, turned enemy. “Get the drugs and the money, I’ll get Michael if he is still alive after that hit to the shoulder…might as well get something out of this rotten f*cking deal, you know,” instructs Patrick.

Patrick helps move Michael toward one of the vehicles. He sits him on the ground and leans him against the side of the car and asks me to load the money into my Vincent and load the drugs into the Koreans car. “I’m taking their car and the drugs. We’ll try and re-sell the drugs and we can always sell the car to the chop-shop for some quick cash,” Patrick explains in a calm tone, as if nothing has even happened. “What about Michael?” I ask. “We can’t just leave him like this.”

“He’ll be fine. I have a doctor in Steinway that will take care of him ‘under the radar,’ if you know what I mean. You just get yourself and the money back to the house and I’ll catch up with you later,” says Patrick. “I can’t believe how f*cking calm you are man! We almost died tonight, your friend has a gaping wound in his shoulder, you were betrayed by your best friend…should I continue?” I shout. “Relax! There ain’t a f*cking thing I can do about any of that sh*t right now Zeke, ‘cept get Mikey here to a doctor and let it all sink in. We’ll talk about it later at the house. Let’s get the hell outta here before the cops show up,” says Patrick, and we assist Michael into the back seat of the car.

Patrick gets in the drivers seat and starts the engine. As he drives off I head back to my car, thoughts and images spinning through my brain like a hurricane. I start to feel sick and tell myself to get a grip. No time for that right now, I have to get out of Alderney, and fast. Emergency sirens echo through the night and disturb the momentary silence. I jump in the car, start the engine and begin my journey to Broker.

…to be continued

-XS

Edited September 22, 2008 by SentinelXS

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Shootin_spree
0

Shootin_spree 0

It all started on a stormy afternoon in late September. Rain pelted the ground, thunder cracked in the distance and lightning filled the sky. Trey Dukeson a.k.a "The Duke", was standing outside of an apartment block. He looked up at the towering bulding and squinted his eyes, which were being blurred by the falling rain.

"Where the f*ck is he?" He said quietly to himself.

He walked over to an SUV and opened the door. The rain was falling even heavier now and he quickly got in the SUV. Trey was drenched, from top to bottom. Droplets of moisture rolled down his face and his clothes were soaked. He rolled up his sleeves and checked his watch. 2:24pm. He honked the horn and slammed himself back into his seat. Trey was not the type of man to be kept waiting. But, he did make certain exceptions, and the man he was waiting for was one of those exceptions. Trey grabbed his mobile phone, pressed a few buttons and held it to his ear. He heard the ringing, but it just kept ringing. No answer.

"For f*cks sake," He said as he got back out of the SUV.

He walked into the apartment and got to the lift. He called it to the 2nd floor and got on. The lift opened and he walked out into a condo.

"Playboy, where you at?" Trey yelled. "We gotta go man."

"Oh sh*t," Playboy's voice could be heard from the bedroom. "Motherf*ckin' alarm."

"Dude, come on," Trey said looking in Playboy's fridge. "They said we need to be there by 3:30."

"I know, I know," Playboy mumbled. "We got plenty of time."

"Why the f*ck you sleeping for, anyway?" Trey asked him.

"Massive party last night bro," Playboy said walking out of the room and calling the lift. "You bring the Cavalade?"

"You know it," Trey said. "Why did we need Cavalades?"

"We're merging, all of us," Playboy said. "And the Cavalade is gonna be our standard wheels."

"Merging?" Trey asked. "What you mean merging?"

"You know, like, joining eachother," Playboy told Trey.

"I know what merging is, motherf*cker," Trey said to Playboy. "How do you know they're not going to pop us?"

"We'll see," Playboy said, with a smug grin on his face.

"A'ight then," Trey said as they got out of the lift.

They both hopped into the SUV and sped off into Bohan. On the way they talked about the weeks events. In 10 minutes they were at the meeting place, The construction site on the South of Bohan. Trey drove into the construction site, which had been abandoned months earlier. Heavily armed men were standing all around and there were 6 Cavalades all parked around the site. Trey parked the SUV and Playboy got out. 6 men all stood in a huddle and Playboy joined them. Trey stayed in the car and looked around. He didn't trust any of these people. he opened the small arm rest and pulled out a handgun. The windows on the Cavalade were tinted, so no one could see what he was doing. He loaded it and put it down the front of his pants. The rain had eased, but made the ground extremely muddy. The 7 men all in a huddle seemed to be deeply immersed in conversation. Then abruptly, they all walked back to there Cavalades. Playboy got in the Cavalade and closed the door.

"Well?" Trey said intriguingly.

"Uhh, drive, quickly," Playboy said, pulling out a handgun.

"What the f*ck did you do?" Trey asked firing the engine up.

"Nothin', they just, they just.." Playboy trailed off.

"They just what bro?" Trey asked, leaving the construction site quickly.

"Its not happenin', no one wants in anymore," Playboy said, rolling down the window. "Something's scared them off."

"Excellent, just f*cking delightful," Trey said speeding back into Algonquin. "So, now, we're all gonna try to rub eachother off the map?"

"Sh*t, I hope not," Playboy said leaning out of the window. "F*ck, step on it Duke."

"Why?" He asked, looking into the rearview mirror. "F*ck."

A cavalade was speeding after them. And then, from no where, a bullet went zooming through the back window. Amid the yelling and swearing the Cavalade came up next to them. Playboy rolled up his window and ducked down. Bullets rattled through the window and door. Trey swerved into the other Cavalade and sent it flying into the guard rail. He sped off quickly and gained some ground away from them. But bullets still flew through the air at there Cavalade. Then, one of the tires was hit. The wheel blew and the SUV flipped through the air. Trey held his hands over his face and Playboy screamed. The car went flipping and flipping and then came to a screeching halt at the end of the bridge. The rival SUV flew past them and screeched around the corner. Treys Cavalade lay there, smoking and trashed, laying on the roof. Trey, still seated by his seatbelt looked over at Playboy. He didnt have his seatbelt on and his body lay, limp, halfway through the windscreen. Blood trickled down Trey cheek, and he undid his belt. Trey made his way down carefully, kicked out his side window and crawled through. He stood up, stumbled around for a bit and went and fell to his knees next to Playboys body. Blood was spooled up around him and he was laid face down on the pavement.

"NO!" Trey screamed, holding Playboys body. "NOOOOO!"

People rushed over and began to help. Cars were backed up everywhere and within minutes, an ambulence and police unit was on the scene. The ambulence took Trey to the hospital and the car crash was blocked off from public view. he was released the next day and made his way back to the scene. He got there and the memories of the gunshots and the car flipping invaded his mind.

From then on, Trey "The Duke" Dukeson vowed to take down every other gang involved in the merge. 6 gangs lay in his way. The Bohan Boys, Chinatown Cripplers, The Algonquin Crew, Star Junction Six, The Easties and The South-Side Bunch. These 6 gangs didn't know it yet, but they were about to be toppled.

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Build Up Your Gang
0

Build Up Your Gang 0

Jacky: $48, the only issue here is that it was short. You've bought your same skills over from the SA chapter to here, and that is why I'm most impressed.

$100 + $48 = $148

Sentinel: $46, an interesting twist, Jacky decided on this rating and I read over it and he was right. Good work. One thing you can work on is a new line for every speaker, it'll help the reader distinguish whos talking and whos not.

$183 + $46 = $229

Shootin: $30, a decent story with a few grammar errors and mis-placed words. One major issue that you were picked up on was that you used a car which didn't belong to your gang. As much as I agree with Jacky's original decision to void your story, I find it discouraging to have all your work completely ignored because of a rule, and plus I'm in a pretty lenient mood.

Jacky has warned you, so now you know. I'm penalizing you $18, as the price of your car (Vigero) is $180, and if you divide by 10... Yeah, easy maths.

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SentinelXS
2

SentinelXS 2

yeah i can do the new line per speaker thing. i read shootin_spree's post and it looks better that way...it didn't look right in MS Word but it works on here so i'll do that on the next story...i'll be back later to post

-XS

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WelcomeToLibertyCity
1

WelcomeToLibertyCity 1

Today was the day. The one I have been waiting for. About three weeks ago Playboy told me about a deal that was going down, we were going to ambush a M.O.B. and show them we mean business and get some money out of it also. You see, along time ago, my best friend since childhood was killed by M.O.B. just for being my friend. When Playboy told about this ambush I couldn't resist helping out. “Taxi!” I hollered as I hailed a taxi to the side of the street. “Take me to the Triangle Club, and don’t waste time.” I said to the taxi driver as I called up Playboy anxiously on the phone.

“Yo, talk to me.” he said.

“Hey Playboy man what’s up? You as pumped as I am about this?”

“Haha! You know it brother.”

“Nice, I’m on my way over to the Triangle Club right now for the meet how we doing this anyways?”

“Man I don’t trust these damn cell phones, probably people listening in and sh*t, we’ll talk when you get here.”

“Alright man sure.” I said.

I hung up the phone and a few moments later I arrived at the club. Out front there was three shiny black new Vigeros parked in a neat line, and some of Playboy’s main men guarding the front and the back entrance of the club.

I walked inside to see the Triangle Club deserted. No ladies, no bouncers, no music, just one light on at the very back of the room with Playboy and 12 other North Holland Hustlers.

“Hey Dray come over here man.” Playboy said as he took a draw of a cigarette.

“Yo Playboy what’s going on man?” I replied.

“ Just getting ready to explain some sh*t, take a seat and listen up.” he breathed the smoke out as he spoke.

I sat down at a table with three other guys. They were all wearing large white hoodies with a Mac 10 and loads ammo stuffed into the pockets. Playboy must have noticed me looking at them and he tossed me a Mac 10 an some extra ammo.

“Bro this ones gonna be tight as f*ck you’re gonna need that. Now let me explain this,” he said in a serious tone. “We’re gonna head over to the Firefly Projects to Mohegan Avenue in the Vigeros parked out front. There is two old abandoned warehouses where the M.O.B. are cutting the deal. First, we’ll pull up along side of the road left of these warehouses. Me and Dray will jump the wall there and hide behind some old junk cars. When we have a good aim on the two exchanging the drugs and money we’ll cap them. As soon as you hear us to that, run in and blast on any fools left behind, got that?” he said. We all nodded our heads yes. “Good, now let’s head out and do this sh*t.” We headed out to the cars. Playboy, myself, and the two guys from my table got into a car, I was the driver.” We headed over to Mohegan Aenue. After driving for some time we arrived and parked all the cars on the street left of the meeting. Playboy took out a Mac 10 from his pocket, loaded it with ammo and made sure everyone was ready. Him and myself head around back as the other 10 guys waited for us to fire that first shot. Same as Playboy said in his plan, we jumped the wall and took cover by the junked cars.

“You ready Dray?” Playboy said as he put out his cigarette.

“Yeah man let’s do this.”

He took aim on the guy dealing the drugs. He was tall with a long overcoat that ended bellow his knees, and I took aim at the guy paying the cash, he was short with a hoodie and a pair of large sun glasses that almost covered his face.

“On the count of three shoot...” Playboy said, “One... two... three!”

I pulled down on the trigger and bullets came rushing out of the gun. They slid behind cover as fast as they could. I got sight of one of their elbows sticking out from behind a pole, I shot at it and the dealer fell into sight as blew him back with bullets. Playboy’s target was unlucky however while trying to find cover. Playboy got him in the knee and in the head. Both of the dealers were down and me and Playboy were safe. The rest of the Huslters came in as planned and shot down the rest of the M.O.B.

“We did it man! Haha!” cheered Playboy.

“Yeah this is great we got everyth-“ My voice was cut out by the sound of sirens blaring, cars roaring down the highway, and helicopters beside us, cops.

To Be Continued...

Edited September 23, 2008 by WelcomeToLibertyCity

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SentinelXS
2

SentinelXS 2

As I sit behind the wheel and make my way to Patrick’s Mother’s house in Broker I start to fully realize the reality of what just happened and how thing could have gone. I’m luck to be alive and free of any bullet holes.

“I’ve gotta get a new life,” I utter quietly to myself.

This was one of those car rides where it’s just you and the wheel, no radio, and you drift off into a sort-of trance state of driving, where the body takes over and your mind just wanders. You manage to get to your destination but you don’t even remember the drive there. I stop the car right in front of the McReary house and shake off the thoughts running through my mind. I check the mirrors, looking for anything out of the ordinary or suspicious, and slowly exit the vehicle. For a false sense of security I clip my knife onto the back portion of my belt and cover it up with my jacket. I don’t know what good it will do there if I do need it but it’s better than carrying nothing at all and finding yourself in a situation where you need a weapon.

I jingle the keys as I fumble them around in my hand and make my way toward the trunk. I look to see if there are any lights on in the house and can see that someone is watching T.V. downstairs. I single out the trunk key and insert it into the lock.

“Yeah. Figured what the hell, right? After the kind of night we've had,” he says. “You still got the cash?”

“I better have it, unless someone got in the trunk on my way over here. I was opening the trunk until you decided to be funny,” I say.

“Sh*t man, didn’t know you couldn’t take a little joke…business, business, business with you,” Patrick grumbles as he gets the money from the trunk. “Come into the house for a few, won’t ya?”

I pause for a moment to think over the request. “Sure…after this night, why not?” and we both enter the house.

Patrick and I put back a few brews and he suggests that we go out since the night is still young and as he explains: “There are way too many hot, young girls in Liberty City that want to spend the night with guys like us, they just don’t know it yet.”

Always the optimist, but it beats sitting at home watching mindless garbage on T.V. We get to the car and make our way to Algonquin. A short time later we arrive at Lucky Winkles Bar, where my evening began. Only this time I’m on the other side of the glass, looking out instead of in, and I couldn’t be happier. The drinks were going down easy and I found myself relaxing more and more as the night went on, pockets stuffed with cash so the steadily growing tab didn’t seem to matter.

Life is full of surprises, as I was about to learn. I heard the door open and turned to notice two rather large men entering the bar. They looked sober and p*ssed and I hoped they were here to pound down a few drafts and not pound in a few heads. Turns out they were there for the latter and immediately approached Patrick. One of the men grabbed Patrick by his shoulder and forcibly turned him around so he was facing the man. Patrick is of average height, weight, and build, about 5’ 7”, 165 lbs and had to look up to see the face of his assailant. However, Patrick is very Irish and wouldn’t back down from a fight with a giant, even if he knew there wasn’t a chance he would win.

“You got a f*cking problem buddy?” asked Patrick sharply.

The whole bar was instantly silent, waiting to see what was about to happen. The man only stood there looking at Patrick, as if he was either confused about what he should do, or possibly running through the catalog in his mind of exactly which horrible thing he was going to do to Patrick.

“Yeah, I’ve got a problem. Its trapped right here in front of me and I think that it should come outside where I can deal with it,” spoke the large man in a very deep, menacing voice.

“And if I don’t wanna go?” taunted Patrick.

“Then we cam make arrangements to relocate the problem,” said the man as he grabbed Patrick by the back of the neck and shoved him into the clutches of his accomplice.

I was stunned to see them drag him out of the bar and it only took me seconds to react and spring from my seat after the two goliaths. Once outside I spotted them dragging him into the nearby alley. I followed trying to stay in the shadows and gain the gift or surprise and hopefully the upper hand. I could hear all three of them arguing but couldn’t decipher most of the words, as they were being muffled by the distance at which I stood and the fact the men were not facing my direction. I did manage to overhear something about the two Irish men that were killed earlier that night when the drug exchange went terribly wrong.

The alley was somewhat dark, but was lit by the moon and a small light at the opposite end from where I stood watching. A fight began and I knew they would kill Patrick if I didn’t react. I left my lookout spot and moved swiftly into the alley just behind one of the men. As I moved I unsheathed my knife and placed it in my hand ready for use. Luckily for me, I was trained how to fight using knives and became quite familiar with the cold steel that I now possessed. The men were too preoccupied to notice my arrival and the first blow of the knife struck the one man in the kidney, dropping him to his knees, screaming in pain and fear. The other man turned to see his friend’s attacker and was greeted to a knife blade to the face, which sent him backward clutching at the wound.

I turned my attention back to the first man that I stabbed in the lower back. I was shocked to see him trying to get up and reaching into his coat for what appeared to be a handgun. I knew I only had seconds to react and I threw the knife toward him. This was the moment of truth, it was either going to be my life or his eliminated in the next few seconds, and I was hoping my aim was on the mark. Just like playing a game of darts my knife hit its target with unprecedented accuracy, right in the throat, choking the life from the man and eliminating the threat. We were not yet safe, however, as the other ogre lumbered back to his feet while my attention was on the now dead attacker. He punched me harder than I have ever been punched, right in the back of my head, causing my world to become a black, buzzing, spinning blur.

I heard what I thought to be a gunshot and thought, momentarily, that Patrick was just killed and I was soon to join him. Instead, I felt a friendly touch on my back and as I began to regain myself heard:

“You ok Zeke? I shot that other f*cker that punched you,” reassured Patrick as he helped me to my feet.

I shook my head to try and clear my thoughts and asked: “They both dead?”

“Yeah. You got that guy right through the neck and when I saw you get clocked I grabbed the gun he was reaching for…used it on his friend,” explained Patrick.

“You got a rag or anything?” I asked. “I wanna wipe the prints off the gun and knife and put them in the hands of those two guys. Maybe it will look like a drunken brawl and the cops will leave us alone.”

“That’s a great f*cking idea man, knew I kept you ‘round for something,” said Patrick as he handed me his t-shirt. “Here, use this, best I’ve got man.”

I quickly wiped off the weapons and put them in the hands of the two men. We quietly and discretely exited the alley and made our way back to my Vincent. My head was killing me but I was lucky and happy to be alive and I was glad that Patrick was ok too. We didn’t really talk as I drove him home but when we got to his Mother’s house he spoke.

“Thanks man. I really mean that. I was glad to have you there with me tonight and not someone else. Anybody else might have just let those big f*ckers kill me in that alley, but you really stepped up.” He paused briefly. “I’m going to need your help on a really big deal that’s going down and I know for sure now that I can trust you. I didn’t really ever doubt it, but you know how it is. Look at Pete. Anyway, I’ll call you in a couple of days when things are ready. Rest up…it’s probably gonna be crazy too.”

He exited the car and walked up the sidewalk to the house. I said to myself again:

“I’ve really gotta get a new life.”

…to be continued

-XS

Edited September 23, 2008 by SentinelXS

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Build Up Your Gang
0

Build Up Your Gang 0

Apart from the odd errors and word repetitions, this was yet another great story from you. The plot was interesting, and believable and you portrayed the GTA IV characters well. You have consistancy too, your stories are of the same caliber every time and don't seem to loose steam at all.

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Motherstep 5,801

Motherstep 5,801

Long live the Irish! Just an introductory topic, won't be gold but it'll get me into the bare bones of it.

Irish Mob

McReary Household

Chapter 1: Northern Ireland Scum

The family unit is an important one, especially in the harsh reality of Liberty City. No matter how loud the metaphorical "bell of freedom" rings out, there will still be conflict. Fortunately, conflict is minimal in the freshly redeveloped area of Dukes. As buildings continue to rot and as parks continue to die, replacements are constant in order to maintain a safe environment for Liberty City patrons. Whether it be the elderly or pregnant women, Liberty City lives and breathes. However, no-one is safer than the Irish...

As an empty can of Pisswasser hit the already stained carpet of the McReary house living room, the television rang out hollow advertisements for the latest and greatest that Liberty City had to offer. Patrick's eyes lazily drifted and traced the path where the can had dropped from his hand and sniffed harshly, unable to muster the strength to pick it up and get a new one. Home alone in a safe city, Packie hauled himself out of the armchair which took a considerable amount of energy to accomplish. Running a nicotine stained finger under his nose and sniffing harshly once again, Packie's ears picked up the sound of the front door going and saw his mother hobble into the kitchen, arms laden with grocery bags. With a mocking disdain, Packie sighed at the determination of his poor old mother and decided to help.

"You're a good boy, Patrick. A good boy."

Packie hated to admit it at times, but his mother knew exactly what to say at times of boredom. In fact, the house seemed pleasant when it was just him and his mother. Arguments would start as soon as the siblings were added to the equation.

"I ran into Alex on the way home Patrick," his mother called through the kitchen over the oddly loud rustling of the brown paper bags, "said he'd like to meet you for a drink this afternoon, he's at the Steinway Garden all day. You should go."

Packie picked a stubborn morsel of food from his teeth, muffling an enthusiastic reply. His mother barely had time to say her goodbye before he was out of the door, thrilled at the prospect of meeting an old friend for a drink and maybe even some work.

A booming voice rang out across what seemed the whole of Dukes, and it came from a man who clearly looked uncomfortable in his own skin. Despite his youth, a flatcap perched precariously on his brown wavy hair. Drops of beer lingered in Alex's badly shaven face, but he made light work of that by catching every fleck that danced on his lip.

"I will in a bit you rowdy f*cker, just need a piss."

"No time Packie, no time, have one of mine and sit down."

Packie scoffed when he realised Alex had three beers sat eagerly in front of him. Sitting gently on the beer garden bench, Packie tried not to wet his own pants while Alex let out a low burp.

"You need work?"

Packie's urge to go to the toilet instantly dissolved and he took an enthusiastic, deep drink of the ice cold Pisswasser that had been shoved in front of him. Alex looked like he was about to go on, but drank with Packie as if it was an Irish ritual. This time, both men burped before Alex went on.

"A guy that works down at the harbour wants some sh*t moving, no questions asked. I told him the Irish are men of very few words when they want to be and when they're sober..."

"Yeah, well," Alex seemed to sober up considerably at this point, which seemed more apt as it was barely noon, "I said you'd be down there later to shift... whatever it is he has holed up there, I don't f*ckin' know. All I know is, you got work boyo."

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Build Up Your Gang
0

Build Up Your Gang 0

Lacked description and formatting. The number of gang members accompanying you also seem to change from sentence to sentence. One moment it's ten, then it's twelve. It's all really confusing if you ask me.

$118 + $27 = $145

Masterkraft

Irish Mob

1st Story:

+$40

An interesting read. I'm not to fond on the idea of using GTA IV characters as your protaganists, but that's just a personal preference. The dialogue was truthful but seemed to lack character. Overall your story seemed too short, you left off without really handing over any sort of resolution or ending.

$274 + $40 = $314

rated and updated by Jacky FiendEdited September 23, 2008 by Build Up Your Gang

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WelcomeToLibertyCity
1

WelcomeToLibertyCity 1

“Sh*t Dray! It’s the f*cking cops!” raged Playboy as he tore his Mac 10 back out of his pocket, “What the hell are we going to do now?”

“Calm down man, being p*ssed off right now isn’t going to help anything at all! Now listen, you grab the drugs, I’ll grab the money, we gotta get to the Vigero and get the f*ck out of here as quick as possible, you shoot anyone following us and I’ll try to lose this heat, understand?” I asked.

“Yeah man let’s get out of here!” he screamed as a chopper hovered over us.

“LCPD drop you’re weapons, drugs and get down on you’re knees.”

“Go to hell!” shrieked Playboy as bullets rattled out of his gun at the chopper, “Don’t just stand there man, f*cking shoot!” I whipped out my Mac 10 and took aim at the choppers propeller. I pulled down on the trigger and a stream of bullets flew out smashing the chopper’s the propeller. Playboy got the last shots in as the chopper burst into a ball of scorching flames, fell out of the sky and exploded right next to the ten other gang members accompanying us, wasting them all.“Sh*t! Those were my best men Dray! My f*cking best men!” cried Playboy.

“Now’s not the time, let’s get into the car!” I hollered.

We sprinted to the car as fast as we could. I threw open the car door, jumped into the drivers seat, chucked the money into the back of the car and sped off towards the East Borough Bridge.

“Go!” screamed Playboy as he bashed out the left car window with his elbow, “Ouch! F*ck!” he screamed in pain as blood gushed out of his arm.

“Are you going to be able to shoot? Because we really don’t have time to mess around right now man, there’s like five cops right behind us!” I shouted.

Playboy looked out the window and saw the five LCPD cruisers that were on our tail. They were not going to give up easy!

“Sh*t man I’ll try my best to fend off these cop mothaf*ckers, you gotta get me to the hospital though man, this arm is f*cked.” he moaned. We were driving up Dukes Boulevard full speed in the Vigero, almost at the East Borough Bridge, I decided to lose the try to lose the heat at the bridge and get Playboy the hospital on Leavenworth Avenue. Playboy leaned out the window and fired a few shots into the windshield of a cruiser, the officer fried back, heavily damaging the back of our car, popping both our back tires and hitting Playboy’s arm.

“For f*cks sake! How many times can a guy’s arm get injured in one day?!” he shouted. He returned fire at the cruiser while screaming “Burn in hell you punk *ss mothaf*cker!.” The shot hit the windshield of the cruiser, killing the officer behind the wheel. The cruiser’s breaks shrieked as the car came to a halt in the middle of the turn off to the bridge, blocking the way of the other cruisers, with the dead officer’s limp body laying on the steering wheel. Another cruiser following close behind hit the car so hard the driver flew the windshield crashing onto the pavement creating a pile up of LCPD cruisers. I took advantage of this moment and pressed my foot onto the gas pedal as hard as I possibly could and the car shot up the highway. We had outrun the cops.

“We did it man we lost the cops!” I exclaimed, “Playboy?” I looked over to the left seat of the car to see Playboy lying on the seat not moving with blood rushing out of his arm.

Going as fast as the car could go, I tore up Rocket Street and headed towards the hospital. I soon as I arrived, I checked to see if there was anyone watching. When it was safe, I took Playboy’s body, carefully and quietly carried it over to the entrance of the hospital and gently sat him down. I hopped back into the car and headed over to Playboy’s apartment complex do deliver the drugs and money for when he got released from the hospital. Luckily, Playboy gives his main men all the keys in case of incidents like this are to ever happen and we need to get inside his place. I opened up his door quietly and peered inside. I walked in and slammed the door behind me. I was feeling a mix of relief that we pulled it off, anger that the cops almost killed us, and hope that Playboy will be ok. I tossed the drugs and money on his couch and walked over to his fridge. I opened it up, grabbed cold Pibwasser, ripped it open and chugged it down. After all I went through today, I needed a drink.

@Welcome: $31, interesting story. Three quick things to help you improve:

1. Instead of the usual

"Oh I'm down!" He moaned.

you can add more description to it by adding something to the end e.g.

"Oh I'm down!" He moaned in agony as he held his shoulder in pain.

2. Proof-read, I'm guilty of not proof-reading either but sometimes if you put words in the wrong places it can really wreck the mood of a story and can also force the reader to backtrack, heres a mistake that stuck out like a thorn.

I decided to lose the try to lose the heat

was obviously intended to be:

I decided to try and lose the heat

3. Paragraphs, try paragraphing instead of posting a wall of text. It makes it way easier for everyone to read.

I slowly awaken and rapidly blink my eyes while trying to adjust to the brightness of the room, as the sun finds it way through the gaps in the window blinds. It’s the morning after yet another crazy evening and my body is telling me it went through its paces. Not only am I hung over from all of the beer, but also my head and neck are killing me from that brute’s punch. I post my left hand on the mattress and force myself to stand up and make my way to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I pop a couple of pain relievers, brush my teeth, and grab some the morning paper.

It looks as though last night’s antics made headline news. Both stories are in the paper, the headlines read:

7 Dead In Gang Shootout, Police Searching for Leads

2 Men Dead After Late Night Bar Fight In Nearby Alley

As I read through the articles a feeling builds in the pit of my stomach that makes me realize just how lucky I am to be alive and how I keep putting myself in these situations. I decide that I need to get out of the apartment for a little while and make my way to the closet to get dressed. A short time later I exit the front doors of the apartment building and am washed over by a wave of sights, smells, and sounds of a living, breathing city. The late autumn air is cold and I zipper my jacket as I walk toward my car. I am only a few feet from my black Vincent when I notice someone has slashed my tires and keyed the entire side of my car. The light glitters off the metallic lines dug into the paint, revealing bare metal the length of the vehicle. My mood changes as I survey the damage, now noticing that the headlights and taillights have been smashed.

The only nice part of having family in the city is that they know a lot of different people. Patrick knows a guy that runs a local body shop and sets up an appointment for my car to be fixed. I call a tow truck and get it hauled to the guys shop in Northwood, Algonquin. The guy tells me it will be a few days until all of the parts are ordered and he can repaint the car. As I take the taxi back to my apartment I realize that having a second vehicle might not be such a bad idea, considering where I live and the type of life I lead. Once at my apartment, I log onto the Internet and begin searching used car websites and come across what seems like a really good deal on a newer used vehicle. I decided to call the number and set up a time to meet and see the car.

“Hello?” responds a young woman’s voice from the other end of the line.

“Hi. I was calling about the black Hakumai you have advertised online,” I say as I pace around my apartment.

“Oh…right…forgot all about that. Sorry. It’s actually my brother’s car, he asked me to try and sell it for him because he is overseas fighting in the war and has no use for it,” she explains.

“Well I’d like to take a look at it…is today ok?” I ask.

“Sure, come over around 1:30…I’ll make sure I’m here to show it to you,” the young woman says in a friendly tone.

I get directions to where the car is located, grab some cash, and kill some time until the appointment. Patrick, Michael, and I split the money from the previous night’s drug exchange gone wrong, so I have plenty of cash at the moment and nothing better to spend it on. I take a taxi to the location and end up in a nice residential area of northeastern Broker, near Steinway. I make my way up the steps to the door with the number from the directions, and ring the doorbell. A beautiful, young, blonde woman that introduces herself as Allison greets me warmly. Taken back momentarily by her knockout good looks, I stumble with my words and manage to squeak out some form of greeting in return.

The black Hakumai turns out to be great and I decide to buy the car, but what I was truly after, at this point, was no longer the car. I find the courage to ask Allison out on a date, to which she replies in the affirmative. I leave after all of the paperwork is finished, driving my new set of wheels, thinking about how life can go from awful to great all in one afternoon. Problem is…my life never stays very good for very long and my cell phone starts going off. The incoming call is from the Alderney State Correction Facility, so I know it must be Gerry, Patrick’s brother and my cousin.

“Hey Gerry,” I say hesitantly.

“I hear you boys have been having some fun without me, eh?” remarks Gerry.

“I guess you could say that. How have things been going for you in there?” I ask as I try to make conversation.

“Not good…might be stuck in here for a while cousin. I need to see you…talk about a few things I have on my mind. Pay me a visit, won’t you?” asks Gerry as I hear the guard inform him that his time on the phone is almost up.

“Yeah man…I’ll come down today. I’ll see you soon Gerry,” I say and end the call.

It appears that I spoke too soon when I said my afternoon was going so great. A call from Gerry usually means there is a job he needs done or someone that needs dealt with. I am hoping that tonight won’t turn into another night of trying to wash the bloodstains from my hands. I look at the piece of paper beside me on the seat with Allison’s name an cell phone number written on it and think to myself, "she has no idea who she is getting herself involved with." I chase away those negative thoughts and hope that maybe she can be the silver lining in this otherwise dark cloud of a life that I am currently leading. I alter my course and head toward southern Alderney, to the Prison visit with Gerry. I'm curious, as well as nervous, to hear what he has in store for me.

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Lochie_old
5

Lochie_old 5

I tap my fingers on the dashboard singing along to whatever song is on LCHC; Mikey nervously drives at the speed-limit as we cut through an alleyway onto Concord Avenue, we pull straight into Dukes Drive then down into the docks.

A parked Oracle and a pissed off Bob greets us, I’m still pretty drunk as I stumble out of the car and nearly hit the cold asphalt.

“It’s f*ckin’ 11 right now, I said meet me at 10.” Bob yells at Mikey as he stares disappointingly at me, I can still tell he’s pissed off at me.

“Yeah, I know that,” Mikey avoids Bobs piercing glare and stares at my sorry state trying to lean back on the car, he continues; “But Greg got into a little fight.”

I hear my name and sit-up right on the hood of our Blista Compact and slur; “The f*cking c*nt had it coming.”

Bob just looks at me and shakes his head, “Keep this kid off the Blarney’s. Anyway, tomorrow we’ve got a small deal with some Irish band playing at the Gardens. They want some H but the problem is that we don’t have any; I’m sending you two boys to Algonquin to go pick some up from the Korean Mob.”

Mikey nods as he fidgets with his jacket zip, I go to interrupt but instead decide that lying on the car hood is a comfier option. Bob gives Mikey more details on the deal, I watch them shake hands then Bob pops the boot of his Oracle and hands him a suitcase and keys.

The jingling sound is pain to my ears as Mikey peels me off the hood,

“What are we doing?” I moan and hold my head; I can feel a headache brewing and know that this hangover is going to be a bitch.

“The Blista Bob gave us was just a temporary, we’ve got ourselves a new car.” He jingles the keys in front of me, the sound stabs my ears so I clasp my ears and try not to punch Mikey out for being so annoying. He drags me down to the shipping containers and finds one that has been opened, inside is a dark green Vincent. He sets me to lean on another container as he drives the car out. The rumbling of the engine is enough to tell that this car is brand spankin’ new from Germany.

We drive along Dukes Drive and back up Concord Avenue, the apartment me and Mikey live in is three streets away from the Beer Gardens in Brandon Avenue. The car trip seems like an eternity but Mikey pulls up outside the building and pulls me inside.

I can barely move as Mikey sets me to sleep on the couch, he slaps my face and tells me that we have to be up early tomorrow at around 9 am. I can tell I’m going to be f*cked in the morning, so I snuggle down into the old couch and sleep.

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Omnia sunt Communia
123

Omnia sunt Communia 123

It was lunch time and Jimmy had decided to make his way across the road to the dive bar nestled underneath the freeway. He often wondered how the scummy little pub made a profit. It was hidden away from the rest of the city and was not the most appealing watering hole in Liberty.

Never the less, he was thirsty and traveling to Steinway for a quick eye-opener before returning to work was defiantly not feasible right now. He sat in front of the bar and grasped the glass tumbler between his fingers daintily, swinging it back and fourth gently. Stopping to take a swig of the harsh tasting beverage he shuddered violently as the liquid burned a path straight towards his liver.

He was alone in the bar. Even the bartender had stepped outside for a quick cigarette while the place was quiet. The only sound that greeted his ear was the familiar tune of Johnny Cash whistling out from the jukebox tucked in the corner. Jimmy did not recognise the song by name, but knew it well. He sang to himself between sips in a soft voice that only he could hear.

Finishing the drink he placed the glass back down on the bar and pushed himself away from it. Taking to his feet he took a moment to balance himself correctly before making his way towards the exit. Before he could leave the premises the large double doors swung open and three men dressed in leather jackets forced their way into the pub. They studied the place intensely before finally settling their sights on Jimmy.

"Shut up you son of a bitch!" the leather clad intruder hollered, "You killed Davie Royce and now we're here to kill you!"

Jimmy stepped backwards in shock. He recognised the name, Davie Royce, but he didn't know where from. It all came back to him in a flash and he suddenly realised who these rude assailants where: Lost Outlaw Bikers. Davie Royce was a Lost member who Jimmy killed as part of his iniation into The Angels Of Death gang. He always knew that The Lost would try and claim retribution for his murder, but Jimmy just didn't expect it to come at 12:35 on a lazy Tuesday afternoon.

Charging at Jimmy like a bull at a red cape, the leader of the group attacked him with a powerful hay maker from the left. It struck Jimmy across the side of the face and sent him hurtling backwards into a set of table and chairs that merely collapsed under the force of his impact.

Jimmy clambered back through the rubble and got to his feet. His face twinged in anguish against his will as the biker attacked Jimmy once more. Using the same technique as before the Lost member was quickly outwitted by Jimmy who dodged the punch and struck him in the stomach. Winding him and sending him gasping for air to the floor.

He dug his Doc Martin boots in the biker's face repeatedly, refusing to stop until he stopped bleeding. He pulled his foot back and thrust it forward one more time sending the man sliding across the room in a pool of crimson that stained the hardwood floors. Jimmy looked up at the other two men with a sinister smirk plastered across his now bruised complexion.

"You f*ckers want some too?"

The bikers stopped in their tracks immediately, wishing not to end up like their friend before them. They quickly darted back out the door from whence they came and left behind a quivering wreck of a man laid strewn across the floor with a boot sized dent in the front of his face.

Jimmy stepped over the injured man, choosing not to help him, nor to finish him off. Instead he made his way out of the bar and back to work.

Build Up Your Gang 0

$47. A great start to your Biker career; excellent word choice and it all flowed really well.

Never the less

I would write this as one word, but yeah, that's about all there is to critique.

~PhusioN~

$44. Interesting, writing in the present tense would normally seem odd, but you make it flow just as well as a past-tense story would. A couple of technical errors:

"... I said meet me at 10.” Bob yells at ...

That period there should really be a comma,

... and slur; “The f*cking c*nt had it coming.”

Don't know what the semi-colon's there for, it really should be a comma.

"... we’ve got ourselves a new car.” He jingles ...

Same thing, period should be comma.

That's all, a generally well-thought out story.

SentinelXS (Hakumai purchased)

$40. You use present tense writing well, but it makes your story a bit bland, as you end up saying "I wake up.. I go here.. I answer.. I chase.." etc. Try to spice up your sentences, I know it's hard since you're essentially talking about the main character's actions the whole story, but yeah, work on that a little bit.

radicell.

PS. Formatted gangs list a bit. Spanish Lords is now color-coded to be Orange to avoid conflict with the Torres cartel.

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WelcomeToLibertyCity
1

WelcomeToLibertyCity 1

@Welcome: $31, interesting story. Three quick things to help you improve:

1. Instead of the usual

"Oh I'm down!" He moaned.

you can add more description to it by adding something to the end e.g.

"Oh I'm down!" He moaned in agony as he held his shoulder in pain.

2. Proof-read, I'm guilty of not proof-reading either but sometimes if you put words in the wrong places it can really wreck the mood of a story and can also force the reader to backtrack, heres a mistake that stuck out like a thorn.

I decided to lose the try to lose the heat

was obviously intended to be:

I decided to try and lose the heat

3. Paragraphs, try paragraphing instead of posting a wall of text. It makes it way easier for everyone to read.

$145 + $31 = $176

Phusion

thanks for the tips! ill try my best to improve even more on my next story